


Canary Rain

by SandyMinbrook



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bill is so rude, Bones get broken im sorry, Low-key torture, Mabel is my child please protect her, Mild Gore, Possession, Weirdmageddon, dipper you poor thing, i wanna kill me, making a point, not thaaaaaat bad, you'll wanna kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandyMinbrook/pseuds/SandyMinbrook
Summary: Mabel gets a vengeful visitor in the midst of hell that is Bill Cipher's doing.aka If Weirdmageddon was a bit less children-tv-show and a bit more actual-apocalypse.





	1. The Dark Side

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not kick me into the time out corner for putting these sweet children through hell.  
> You have been warned.

A yellow raincoat beneath a clear umbrella.

A pair of muddy boots against the sand road.

A flaming red sun setting over the darkening trees.  
A pair of yellow eyes scanning the forest.

A tattered bag slung over a bandaged shoulder.

A menacing storm cloud forming ahead.

A rainfall of dead canaries bouncing off of the reddening umbrella.

Human blood mixing with the birds’ runs into the bushes in small streams. The red sky is mocking the bodies strewn across the path. Some corpses can be guessed human, others – a mythical creature of the woods.

Some are too mangled to tell.

Boots splish splosh against the mud that’s more red than brown, the umbrella still held high.

The canaries keep falling.

A tree blocks the path, the trunk chewed done at the base. There seems to be no way around and with a snap of bloody fingers, the heavy pine lights up with unnaturally blue flames.

Soon the fire is overridden by red and orange, the magic not needing to sustain it anymore; the figure strides on.

Evergreens thin out and soon what’s left is a trashed clearing. Branches, canary corpses, and limbs are strewn around.

In the middle of it all is a worn down building in a clean circle.

An invisible line prevents any of the debris from falling into the lawn. A year back it would have prevented the figure from walking in.

But times have changed.

The canaries keep falling.

Elongated pupils blink up at the home of the last survivors.

The _only_ survivors.

A wall is missing on the first floor, not just the ‘S’ is gone from the faded sign.

The same bloody hands run through brunet locks and leave red trails after them, a welcomed contrast to the pale skin.

The umbrella is carelessly dropped onto the ground as the canary rain seizes to a stop.

The figure reaches out, what should have been a massive magical shock is now only a faint tingle.

The barrier is weak.

At last.

The figure walks through the untouched grass as the sun sets even lower.

A knock on the door for manners and a snap of the fingers for the lock holding it in place.

The hallway is a mess of upturned furniture and ripped books.

Dark red stains on the walls make him chuckle.

He doesn’t creep quietly.

No – he wants the whole world to know he’s finally done it.

He wants the girl upstairs to know he’s finally ‘home’.

The pristine yellow raincoat is draped over a chair that’s lying sideways; the bloody hands brush brown curls back over the eyes.

He rolls his dislodged shoulder that supports the bag, a warming jolt of pain.

The stairs creak and his fingers leave four red lines as he drags them along the wall.

“Mabel?” he calls as he reaches the top floor, doing his best to sound worried. Putting on a show was how he got here in the first place.

So she heard him the moment he stepped into the house, she just chose to stay hidden just in case it wasn’t her brother.

Too bad.

The girl rushes out of the attic door and lunges herself into his arms, “DiPper!” tear stained cheeks press into his chest, the ripping, dirty sweater clinging to her sweaty form as she hugs him. “There were birds falling!”

She’s about to say something else but he swings his head forward and head-butts the girl.

From previous experience he knows she can put up a hell of a fight, so its best to first shock her into immobility.

She stands stumbles back, hands still clutching onto his shorter form.

Before she can do anything he swing-kicks her to the ground.

No matter how frail the boy’s body is, momentum is always on his side.

On the wooden planks of the attic, she’s still dazed and before she can spring back up, he has her pinned down; magic is indeed useful when the opponent is stronger.

“Di-” but he has her mouth shut in seconds.

“You know Mabs” he uses the nickname on purpose; he wants her to think it’s still her brother.

A needle with a golden thread is pulled out of his pocket.

“You call us the good side…” He angles the needle to her lips, making a face as if he’s deciding where to pierce skin.

“But look around you” the tip of the needle gently touches right at the corner of her lips.

“Look at what we’ve become” she tries to thrash and fight back but his magic’s as strong as it will ever be.

“So filthy”

He puts pressure on the needle and the sharp point easily slides through her top lip. She screams but her mouth is sealed shut so it comes out all muffled.

“So dirty”

He pushes the needle in all the way until it peaks out at the underside of her bottom lip. She continues trying to kick and hit him off but she can’t.

“So stubborn”

He pulls it out by the tip, the golden thread sliding into place.

Now the bottom lip gets pierced upwards.

“So weak”

A small sphere of blood starts forming where the string is. The needle’s tip comes out again and another stitch is done.

She keeps thrashing.

“So puny”

Another stitch and tears are streaming down her face and pooling in her ears.

“Pathetic”

With the fifth stitch she starts to choke on her own sobs.

“Fragile”

Seven stitches and she isn’t even looking at him, eyes squeezed shut, hands balled into white fists.

“Gullible”

Thirteen stitches and the lips are completely sealed with golden thread.

“Why would you ever want to be a part of them?” He leans back. “Why would you ever want to be on the good side?”

He can feel her trying to tug open her lips but the magic keeps them in place. That way it hurts less since the stitches stay unmoving.

And that just won’t do.

She tugs again and he lets go of the magic restricting her face.

Not expecting zero resistance, she almost opens her mouth, the stitches mercilessly tear through skin.

But not enough to free her lips.

The boy chuckles as her eyes go wide and she chokes back another series of sobs, tears an unstoppable waterfall.

She renews her attempts at trying to kick and punch.

So stubborn.

“I really like those pretty hands of yours.” He reaches down to pick one up, the magic forcing it to go limp. “They make really nice art”

He takes the pointer finger and bends it back as far as it will go.

“Not anymore though”

He puts at much strength in his elbow as he can and pushes down.

The finger snaps back.

She tries to shout but the stitches tug and pull at her skin calling another river of tears.

The middle finger goes next and soon all four are hanging backwards, some are an open wound from where blood makes its way down her hand and soaks into her sleeve.

He could always do the same to the second hand but she might go into shock.

No, he wants her to feel all the pain.

“Now, sister.” He leans back again and picks up the same needle he used for the lips earlier. Her eyes grow in horror. “Are you starting to see the privileges of the ‘bad’ side?”

He pushes her sweater up to her chest and looks at the exposed plain of stomach.

So many things to do and so little time.

She can’t see what he’s doing but that’s fine. She’s going to feel it anyway.

The needle is pushed in between her ribs and into her right lung, further away from the heart as he doesn’t want too much damage done just _yet_.

The needle is thin, not enough to stop her from breathing but enough to put her through hell and back with each intake of air.

He leaves the needle in and the tears renew.

The brunet boy stands up, contemplating on what to do next.

He doesn’t need her body for anything, this is just a small prize for himself. The final survivor of the Falls and the one that caused him the most trouble.

A boom of thunder outside draws his attention to the window.

A signal from his allies that it’s finally time to break the last, biggest barrier.

So many things to do and so little time.

Tears have already stained small wet puddles in the wooden floor of the attic. She chokes and sobs quietly now, going into numbness.

There’s only that much a preteen body can take.

He stands up completely, leaving the magic bound body on the floor and walks over to the triangular window. “I’ll ask once, choose your answer wisely.”

Another roll of thunder, time to go.

“Would you like to join me, your faithful twin brother” He turns back the girl. “And help the dark side?”

She stares off into nothing and for a moment he’s worried she died.

She shakes her head, more sobbing.

The only ‘no’ she can provide in her state.

“I said choose wisely” He walks away from the window. “But I also said I’d let you choose only once”

He’s looming over her and he hopes she can see him clear enough through the tears.

His boot hovers over her hips, a bit lower than the abdomen.

He lifts his foot up and then stomps down, hard.

No matter how weak the boy’s body is, momentum is always on his side.

He knows just how and where to aim and the girl’s pelvis shatters under his weight.

It’s one of the worst bones to break, one of the most painful.

Of course he knows that.

This time it hurts so bad she tries to open her mouth again, the thread, to his pleasure, tears through the rest of the flesh this time. Her lips are a bleeding mess but they’re free.

He was expecting screaming but with the added pain from her mouth, she lets out a broken silent sob, more of a tremor that anything.

“Now remember, Mabs”

A quiet teardrop rolls down her hollow cheek and hits the floor.

“Your dear brother”

A choked intake of air resonates through the dirty room.

“Will always”

A lightening strikes near the house, lighting a tall tree on fire.

“Always”

A canary corpse falls from the sky.

“Love you”

A predatory grin and a wink from the figure as he exits the room.

A snap of the fingers and the nearby wall catches fire.

An ear piercing creak from the stairs as he makes his way down.

A set of canary corpses drum against the roof.

A yellow raincoat is slipped on.

A low chuckle echoes through the house as smoke fills the hallway.

He pauses at the front porch.

“Mystery twins?”

He eagerly shouts back into the house as the ceiling collapses.

A clear umbrella is picked up.

The canary rain starts back up.

A yellow raincoat beneath a clear umbrella disappear into the woods.


	2. Grappling Hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok here's the /prequel/ to last chapter, explaining how everything got where it did.

A blue windbreaker under a clear umbrella.  
A pair of orange rain boots against the sand road.  
A grey rain cloud over the forest.  
A pair of chocolate brown eyes blinking at the pretty moss at the edge of the road.  
A school bag heavily pulling back round shoulders.  
A rhythm of raindrops drumming against the umbrella.  
A dead canary falls to the ground.  
The boy looks up in confusion and stops, the rain not quieting for a second.  
Dipper supposes the poor bird was knocked over by the picking up winds, and keeps walking.  
Another canary hits the ground.  
The boy looks up again, brows furrowing into the curly hairline.  
This time the canary hits his umbrella and bounces off to the ground.  
The boy stares up at the red splotch left on his clear umbrella.   
As the boy runs home, more dead canaries plummet to the ground and their blood runs down into the pretty moss at the edges of the road.  
“Ford! Grunkle Stan!” The front door of the old building is swung open, three heads turn to look at the intruder.  
“Birds!” Dipper shouts, his sister and Ford already at the window.  
The old man pales, shooing everyone to their rooms to take what they need.  
The younger twins stuff their things into backpacks, the feeling like something is about to end settles in their stomachs.   
It is the first time in years that the vending machine opens during the day.  
The two pairs of twins rush down the steps.  
Dipper catches his grandpa muttering over and over, crazed eyes blinking rapidly behind large glasses.  
“It’s the Apocalypse.”

\---

“We’re going out to look for survivors”  
Dipper studies the word choice. Survivors.   
Implying it takes surviving to stay alive now.  
The older twins have gun holsters on their belts, Ford is back in his heavy black coat, like the day he stepped out of the portal.  
They look tired, older.  
He glances at Mabel; the circles under her eyes mimic his own.  
Stan wrenches the nailed planks off the front door.  
Ford grips the handle and pulls on his modified goggles.  
“Don’t open the door, stay safe.” Stan hoists his bag higher onto his shoulder.  
Without turning to look back, Ford adds, “Listen to Dipper”.  
“Mystery twins?” Stan whispers to his brother, hopeful.  
Ford stays silent.  
They swing open the door and step out of the house.  
Ford snaps it closed the moment they’re on the front porch.  
But that gives Dipper enough time to glance outside. No matter how much Mabel asks, he won’t tell her.  
But the image of an arm hanging from their totem pole in the front yard stays imprinted in his mind for days.

\---

They hear knocking on the window that night.  
The attic window.  
Dipper nails a blanket over it, slowly dying inside as Mabel buries deeper into sweater.

\---

“I need to go look for them.” Dipper stuffs the Journal into his bag.  
Mabel is silent, rocking on her bed.  
Back and forth, tears rolling down her cheeks.  
The tally marks on the wall show that the Stans have been gone for three weeks.  
Mabel stands up and trots after him as he walks down the stairs, still talking.  
She can’t seem to concentrate on what he’s saying.  
They’re at the door.  
He’s still talking, trying to drill safety rules into her head.  
All she can think of is how she’ll be left alone.  
She wants to stop him, convince him to stay here.  
But Ford said “Listen to Dipper”.  
Too bad she missed half of his speech.  
“Stay inside, Mabs” he shifts the bag’s weight. His hand is on the door and she knows it might as well be the last time they see each other.  
But no, she has to stay strong and hope for the best.  
Before he can slip out of the house she grabs his shoulder, “Mystery twins?”  
Dipper turns back and looks at her sweater, not her eyes.  
He leaves.

\---

This night the knocking on the window turns into slamming and she can hear the canaries ricocheting off of the empty house’s roof.

\---

The walkie-talkie Dipper left isn’t working.  
She’s tried all the buttons and twisted it around in her hand the entire morning but it just won’t make a sound. She’s tried standing on all the floors, tried shaking it, holding it to her ear.  
She’s tried everything.  
And only now does she notice that the batteries are missing.  
They were never there in the first place.  
She cries herself to sleep that night.

\---

It’s been five days since she was left alone in the house and she can’t take it anymore.  
It’s time to step outside.

\---

It takes Mabel another two days to work up the courage.  
She packs some necessary to survival items into her bag and strings her grappling hook to her waist.  
Mabel skips down the steps and halts at the door.  
“Mystery twins.” She whispers into the air and pushes at the handle.

\---

Whatever’s chasing her is invisible but that doesn’t mean it can’t touch her, that doesn’t mean it can’t harm her.  
The Shack is already visible through the evergreens that make up the Gravity Falls forest. She just needs to run a little faster, just a little and she might make it.  
Her twisted foot throbs but its better than being torn apart by the beast behind her. The bite on her left calf isn’t helping either but the Shack is drawing nearer with every step. She needs to keep running.  
The clearing is covered in branches from the previous night’s storm.  
She sees a bloody limb here and there.  
One arm in particular catches her attention. It’s lying off to the side, clothed in blood soaked flannel.  
So that was Wendy’s screaming she heard a couple nights ago.  
She skips over the edge of the Shack’s barrier at lightening speed and slams herself into the door.  
Mabel hears the beast ricochet off of the invisible barrier. Thank God.  
She’s in the building, slamming the door shut behind her.  
But her hand is on the bloody grappling hook the next second.   
She just saw something move. 

\---

It was a person.  
When she finally made it back to the Shack, there was a person leaning against the hallway wall. She didn’t recognize her, probably a passing tourist that got caught in the center of this hell.  
But spending two days outside had made Mabel’s reflexes and aim astonishingly sharp.  
The grappling hook fired before she could react properly.  
Trembling in her bed she remembers how the woman with an already deep gash across her stomach, slumped forward and slid down the wall.  
The grappling hook- that she later tossed out the window without thinking -had pierced the tourist’s neck.  
Mabel hasn’t been down from the attic since, afraid to face the dark red stain on the hallway wall.

\---

Someone breaks into the Shack this evening.  
Mabel lies still, ear pressed to the floor to try and hear what they are doing.  
She knows it’s a person since the barrier wouldn’t let through anyone that was at least a tiny bit magical or supernatural.  
But that doesn’t mean a human is less frightening.  
She hears them walking, limping, around the kitchen and living room, digging through their belongings. She hears the armchair being turned over, the TV shatters, the kitchen table tumbles to the ground as well.   
She doesn’t know what she’ll do if they pick to explore the top floors.  
There’s another sound, like something with a multitude of legs higher than four, is crawling on the ceiling. Mabel’s heart stops, the person is still digging through the kitchen as the thing that sounds like a giant centipede crawls closer to them.  
Her eyes involuntarily close as she hears a choked scream and someone being flung against the wall. The centipede’s footfalls continue for a while.  
Then Mabel hears the previous intruder’s body being dragged out of the building by the centipede.  
She cries quietly on the floor.

\---

The canary rain now drums against the roof nonstop and she hears screams deep in the woods almost every night.

\---

There’s a knock on the front door.  
Mabel freezes in the midst of untying one of her sweaters to get more yarn.  
Sure she’s had random survivors walk in once or twice, never making a sound, but no one has ever knocked.  
The door creaks open.  
Someone’s walking through the hallways, confidently, as if they know the layout of the Shack like the back of their hand. They turn into the stairwell and pause for a second.  
The stairs creak as they walk up to the second floor.  
“Mabel?”  
She freezes.  
That voice she’d recognize anywhere and she knows without any doubt that it’s her brother, the one she counted dead for so long. Mabel is on her feet in second, flying out of the door without even checking if it was really her twin.  
Dipper looks older, his shoulder is tightly bandaged, blood on his hands and forehead, but she’s still taller, and still the alpha twin.  
She shouts his name and lunges into a hug. She thought she’d never see him again, her sweet wall-flower brother that would chew his shirt when he studied at night.  
Something feels off.  
“There were birds falling!” she buries herself deeper into the hug, soaking up the warmth of another human.  
Something feels off and she finally catches the feeling.  
The house is dead quiet.  
There are no canaries bouncing off of the roof.  
Dipper head-butts her.

\---

“Mystery twins?”  
A wooden pole from the ceiling crashes right next to her, the flames quickly spreading across the floor, claiming everything as their own.  
Mabel can’t feel anything below her waist except for mind numbing pain and a burning sensation she can’t identify as the fire or the broken bone.  
The ceiling to her left crashes down completely, exposing the near black sky. One of the heavy planks falls onto her stomach, the needle still poking at her lungs. She can’t breathe for multiple reasons and the tears have already run themselves dry. The skin at the right side of her face starts to boil and blister, her eye feeling impossibly dry. The tangled brunette hair has long burned away.   
The ceiling lamp’s cord pops and it plummets down, the melting glass connecting with the girl’s face.   
The old eroded building collapses completely.  
A shooting star zips across the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep I'm borderline Satan for writing this aren't I?

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah bye I'm leaving to the time out corner...


End file.
